Her Own Prisoner
by Rosage
Summary: Lonely and confused, Jill wonders for the first time if she's the one who's wrong.


_AN: Posted in honor of international day of femslash, though doesn't need to be read as romantic._

Laughter from the cabin above rang in Jill's ears, worsening her pounding headache. She clutched her knees to her chest. By this time, she should have been flying back to announce her victory, or at least have perished in a blaze of glory, but here she was, shivering on the enemy's ship. Taking their shelter burned her, but a soldier had to have some sense to survive, and there was nowhere else to go.

She rubbed her arms. The ship was damp, and the scent of mold filled her nose. Still, for all her discomfort, she couldn't pretend she was a prisoner. She was sitting on a bedroll without bed bugs, and the scratchy hay in it hardly qualified her for martyrdom. She had a cabin to herself, one she could get up and leave anytime. She could even join the others for dinner, though she refused to. There was no reason for her to intrude on their happy family meal.

A booming laugh spilled through the ceiling. She clapped a hand over one ear and pressed the other to the wall, but that only made the laughter echo in it.

Jill drew her knees closer. Why hadn't their commander thrown her overboard? Why hadn't anyone stabbed her in her sleep, or at least come to jeer at her? And why, when a sub-human's growl had kept her up just the night before, was she…by all appearances…safe?

Jill shuddered. If her body had sat mangled at the bottom of the ocean, at least her honor would have been intact. She knew how to fight back, but she had no idea what to do when the enemy was asking her to break bread with sub-humans_. _She hadn't even thought a sub-human could dine with a man unless he was on their plate. The memory of the dragons pushing the ship free haunted her. Everything about these people and this situation was wrong, but as she sat alone and listened to the others chatting happily, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was the wrong one.

Jill broke her squared posture, dropping her head to her knees. She wanted to be home, eating with her father and his men. She sneered at herself. She was just a pitiful girl, after all, not the brave soldier she'd tried to prove herself to be.

A touch on her shoulder made her jump. She swung her hand out as if holding a weapon aloft, but her lance was out of reach. Panicking, she looked up. A girlish face peered down at her.

"Oh. Mist." Flushing, Jill tried to calm herself. Being caught off guard by an overfriendly girl was not her intention. "You're not here to bring me more food, are you?"

"Nope, because I'm here to bring you to it." Mist shoved a hand in Jill's face. "Come on."

Jill jerked back. "What? No. Not this again. I told you, I'm not joining you guys."

Mist huffed and rolled her eyes. "Let me guess…'I'm a Daein soldier! They'll all keel over and die if I look at them!' I know, I know."

"You make it sound so unreasonable. It's obvious they wouldn't want me there," Jill said. She didn't mention that until recently, the Crimean's deaths _had _been the point. Saying something like that to such kind eyes made her feel bad.

"_I _want you there," Mist said. "Can't you just believe that?"

Jill felt warmth grow in her chest despite herself. Shoving it away, she searched Mist's face. Her friends had taught her to find signs of lies in case she ever interrogated a prisoner. _Of course, a twist of the old knife works, too, _they'd 'd laughed at the time, but remembering their crooked grins now made Jill's toes go numb.

She stared at Mist, but she couldn't find any signs of dishonesty. The girl's hand remained outstretched, palm open in invitation. Jill's stomach flopped when she realized she wanted to take it.

Tentatively, she reached. Her fingers brushed Mist's palm. Mist seized them and pulled, dragging Jill off the floor. _Strong grip for such a small girl, _Jill thought.

Jill didn't realize until several steps later that she'd left her lance in her cabin. The fear that welled up had nothing to do with safety. With a weapon in her palm, she felt like she could do anything, whereas the hand still linked with hers made her feel like she didn't know anything at all. She felt like an ape next to Mist, who seemed to share none of her discomfort as she hummed and bounced.

Caught off guard as she was, their destination slipped Jill's mind until they were reached the mess cabin. Panic seized her as Mist turned the knob. _The enemy_, Jill thought. The enemy was there, and she needed to fight.

But when the door opened, all she saw were civilians sitting and eating the rations the sub-human mountain nation had gifted them. Jill scratched her ankle with her foot as she stood in the doorway, expecting someone to turn and glare. Nobody gave her a second glance.

Mist pulled gently on her hand. Jill gripped back, using Mist for stability as she led her to a table full of green heads.

"This is my friend Jill," she said. "She's eating with us."

The word _friend _echoed in Jill's ears. She marveled at how at ease Mist looked. Even at home, Jill couldn't speak to others so naturally. It distracted her enough that she was able to stutter responses to the mercenaries' greetings without declarations of war.

She sniffed the proffered cup, but it was from the jug the others drank from and couldn't be poisoned. Relieved that the others had continued their conversation without questioning her, Jill took a sip.

"That's dumb," the one with evergreen hair said. "I don't care if you're an archer, you can't take down an entire group of crows by yourself."

"Can to!" a boy smaller than Mist retorted. "Just watch me!"

Jill ducked her head and smiled. Despite Mist's best efforts, Jill refused to be dragged into the conversation, but as she listened to the banter, she felt her anxiety slip. Closing her eyes, she took a bite of dried meat and let the voices wash over her, imagining for a moment that they belonged to the family she loved and had let down.


End file.
